And then she gave a little sigh and a bright smile, which, being interpreted, meant "Let us change the subject." There was never any doubt about Mrs.Sydney Bamborough.

She was aristocratic to the tips of her dainty white fingers--composed, gentle, and quite sure of herself.

Quite the grand lady, as Lady Mealhead said.
But Mrs.Sydney Bamborough did not know Lady Mealhead, which may have accounted for the titled woman's little sniff of interrogation.

As a matter of fact, Etta Sydney Bamborough came from excellent ancestry, and could claim an uncle here, a cousin there, and a number of distant relatives everywhere, should it be worth the while.
It was safe to presume that she was rich from the manner in which she dressed, the number of servants and horses she kept, the general air of wealth which pervaded her existence.

That she was beautiful any one could see for himself--not in the shop-windows, among the presumably self-selected types of English beauty, but in the proper place--namely, in her own and other aristocratic drawing-rooms.
She was talking to a tall, fair Frenchman--in perfect French--and was herself nearly as tall as he.